


Out of the Dark

by Verecunda



Category: Frontier Wolf - Rosemary Sutcliff
Genre: First Time, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:55:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23517277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verecunda/pseuds/Verecunda
Summary: At Midwinter, the world leaves the long dark behind and welcomes back the light. So it is for Alexios and Hilarion.
Relationships: Alexios Flavius Aquila/Hilarion
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	Out of the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> In spirit, this follows on from a ficlet I wrote a few months back, [Old Griefs and Old Longings](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21355801), but it's not requisite to have read that first.

“Is this, then, how a newly-promoted Ducenarius of the First Attacotti Frontier Scouts greets his Commander?”

The newly-promoted Ducenarius stretched himself out even further upon his Commander’s bed, leaned even more conspicuously back against the arms folded behind his head, and offered his Commander an even lazier smile.

“It is when he’s been waiting half the night to speak with his newly-promoted Praepositus, sir.”

A smile had been threatening to break out on Alexios’ face from the moment he had first pulled back the curtain of his sleeping-cell to find Hilarion lounging upon the striped blankets. Now he allowed it to break out in full.

“Well,” he said, letting the curtain fall behind him, “at least you took the trouble to build up the brazier. That will certainly speak well for you against the gravity of your offence.”

The warmth of the room was wonderfully soft after the sharp frost in the air outside. In the brazier, the glow of the fire was as deeply pink as a new primrose between the heat-silvered shapes of the logs, and it sent bright fox-tails of light dashing up the walls, chasing the shadows into the farthest corners. Heat radiated from its heart in soft waves, crisp with the fresh scent of smouldering pine. It tingled against his cold fingertips, sank into his very skin to loosen his cold-stiffened limbs, and he sighed aloud with the pleasure of it.

It was snowing hard outside, and though it was only a short walk back from the temple and through the fort to his quarters, there had been time enough for a fine white crust to settle across his shoulders. Now, as he moved, he felt it split and fall in a little pattering sleet to the floor. He removed his wolfskin, laying it in its customary place across his clothes chest, and dropped his woollen cloak over the back of the camp-chair in the corner.

“I trust the Mysteries went well,” said Hilarion.

“Yes, very well.”

It was the first time he had worshipped in the little half-underground temple beyond the outskirts of the garrison-town, and it had been cheering to see how crowded it was. Not just serving soldiers of the Legionary garrison, but also time-expired veterans who had come in from their farms and wine-shops, such was their enduring dedication to the God of the Legions. And as well as himself, there had been a handful from among the Wolves. Most of the Attacotti still held to their own gods, but there were a few among them who had been drawn to the brotherhood of Mithras, seeming to see in him some echo of their own Lugh of the Shining Spear.

And it had been a good gathering. The sacrifices had all been well done, the signs all pronounced favourable; the feasting had been great, and the usual slew of new initiates had done well in their trials. It was as fine a celebration of the birth of Mithras as he had ever known, a good omen for Midwinter.

As for the rest, well, even from here, at the heart of the Praetorium, he could hear the deep pulse of the drums and the high mouth-music from the parade-ground which had become, at least for tonight, the Wolves’ Dancing Ground, as they prepared to welcome the sun back out of the dark. It was very like the music he had heard at Castellum, for the Attacotti of Hibernia were of the same blood as the Dalriads, and it was possible to hear something of the same rhythms weaving through their dances. He had thought, in fact, that Hilarion would have been with them, along with Garwin and Brychanus and the others from the old Number Three Ordo.

“And what about you, Hilarion?” he asked. “Is it part of your devotions to spend half the night sitting alone?”

That Hilarion had indeed been sitting here some time was evident from the air of settled comfort that hung about him, and from the marked languor of his manner — even more marked than usual.

At the question, Hilarion’s smile only broadened. “Surely there’s nothing wrong in a man wishing his Commander joy of the season?”

“Surely not,” Alexios replied, “but I would hope he hadn’t given up his Midwinter Night just to do so.”

“And if I said this is what I have been wanting to do on my Midwinter Night above all?”

“Then I would say it is a bit late to be thinking of bad Saturnalia jokes now.” 

He spoke lightly, as he always did now when trading jests with Hilarion; but even as he did, his heart gave a queer little jolt. Even among the gathering at the temple, he had felt somewhat apart from his brothers in Mithras. He was glad to celebrate the birth of his god, but Midwinter had other meanings for him too, ones that his fellow devotees could not understand simply because they had not been there to witness them. And all of a sudden, the fierce longing had come upon him to be with the one who did understand.

With Hilarion. 

So he had left the Mysteries early, deciding that he would look into his own quarters just long enough to see if there was any message for him, before seeking out Hilarion at the Dancing Ground. But now here was Hilarion already, as if he had been summoned by the longing of Alexios’ heart; as if the same longing had been in his own.

Hearing none of these thoughts, however, Hilarion merely heaved a theatrical sigh. “Then I suppose it’s for me to convince you of my sincerity.”

So saying, he gave a great cat-like stretch. Then in one liquid movement, he swung his legs over the side of the cot and pulled himself up to his full height, before crossing the few paces to where Alexios stood. Here, suddenly, he stopped, so that they stood almost toe-to-toe, and the movement caused his wolfskin to swing out, just far enough for Alexios to feel a grazing of harsh brindled hair against his fingertips. He could not suppress the shiver that went through him at that, and as he glanced up he caught in Hilarion’s eyes a gleam of intelligence, as if Hilarion was well aware of the effect of his closeness — indeed, as if the feeling had passed from Alexios’s body to his own.

But there was none of his usual mockery as he took Alexios’ face lightly between both hands.

“Well, then,” he said softly. “Give you joy of this longest night, Alexios.”

He uttered Alexios’ name with the same exquisite care with which a man might handle some precious, fragile thing he was not sure he had the right to touch, and Alexios’ breath caught at the hearing of it; then, before he quite knew where he was at, Hilarion leaned down and kissed him. It was the most decorous thing Alexios had ever known him to do: the merest feather-brush of lips, hardly more than any formal kiss of greeting — but for the warmth that leapt instantly between them, and the way his pulse instantly ran more swiftly.

Hilarion had kissed him like this before, just once. He had pulled away then, too much beset by memories, his heart still too raw and bruised for him to think of giving it again. But now, though the scars upon it still ran deep, his heart felt bright and full, and he reached for Hilarion in kind, meeting that first gentle advance with one of his own. Hilarion let out a soft breath, a release of tension that warmed Alexios’ blood, and he pressed his advantage, coaxing Hilarion’s lips further apart with his own to make the kiss go deeper. At this, Hilarion gave a very definite groan and he clasped Alexios’ face tighter between his hands, long fingers sliding and tangling through his hair as the heat grew between them.

It was a different heat from the bonfire that blazed outside on the Dancing Ground, or the ritual fires that had illuminated the Mysteries in the Temple of Mithras. It was something else, more like the soft, suffusing warmth of the brazier in the corner, something long-banked and steadily roused. And yet it came into Alexios’ mind that perhaps there was some similarity, after all, between the Midwinter fires and the light that now seemed to fill and overflow within him. There was the same sense of stepping over some threshold, of turning once more out of the long dark. Memories of other Midwinter Nights reached out for him: the wild, ugly madness of the Bull Calves, Cunorix’s dead weight pressing him down into the snow… but though the grief of that memory was still with him, would always be with him somewhere, it had not the same power it had once had. The longest night had come round once again, and ahead was the return of the sun, the promise of new beginnings.

“Hilarion,” he murmured, as the kiss reached an ebb and they broke apart to draw breath, “stay with me.”

At once, Hilarion was very still, and for a long time, it seemed, there was silence between them, broken only by the faint whisper of charcoal settling in the brazier, and the remote throbbing of the Attacotti drums. His eyes flickered as they searched Alexios’ face, and there was something in his expression, something of that same shade of uncertainty that Alexios remembered from when they had stood together at the end of that short winter’s day on the ramparts of Onnum.

Then, all at once, his freckled face broke out in a grin, his eyes very bright. “Gladly, sir,” he said, and leaned in to take Alexios’ mouth again.

Hilarion, he quickly learned, went about the business of kissing with much the same languor that he went about everything else. His lips pressed and yielded in the same unhurried rhythm, his tongue delved deeply and twined with Alexios’ own in long, lazy strokes. Yet for all that, there was an intensity about the kiss that more than matched any desperation, as if there was something within him, something fierce that was on the very edge of breaking loose, like a river in a thaw-flood that might burst its banks at any moment. It was in the way he pressed himself fast against Alexios’ body, arched over him, in the way his fingers curled ever more tightly in his hair.

“Gods,” he gasped, in the space between the breaking of one kiss and the beginning of another. “If you only knew how long I’ve wanted to kiss you like this…”

Alexios’ heart gave a painful clench. “Hilarion—”

“Oh, I don’t mean it as any sort of reproach,” said Hilarion. “It was in my mind long before you had any inkling of it, I assure you.”

Alexios’ mind couldn’t help but flicker back to those first uncertain days at Castellum, to all the times he had turned to find Hilarion lounging against some nearby wall or door-post and watching him intently. He had wondered then if his Senior Centenarius was merely enjoying his bewilderment. Now he wondered what other thoughts might have been hiding behind those glinting eyes and quirked smile, and the heat flamed in his face.

“You hid it well.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Hilarion traced the shape of his bottom lip with the tip of his thumb. He was still smiling, but his gaze had gone unusually sober. “I don’t think I could manage it again, though.”

“No,” Alexios agreed. Somewhere between one kiss and another, they had crossed a threshold which they could never re-cross back, even if they wanted to. Instead his hand found Hilarion’s, twining their fingers together. “Nor I.” And brought up his mouth to Hilarion’s once more.

It seemed as if Hilarion might be happy just to pass the rest of the night like this, kissing him and kissing him, so Alexios judged it was for him to do something. Without breaking away, he moved his hands up Hilarion’s arms to his shoulders, fingers sliding through the hair of his wolfskin until they found and unclasped the battered bronze fibula that held it. He dropped it to the clothes chest to lie alongside his own, like two wolves curling together in their den. The regulation cloak he disposed of with rather less ceremony, simply letting it fall in dark green folds to the floor.

Hilarion grinned, then he was pressing himself against him again, taking advantage of his greater height to urge him back and further back, until they were both lying athwart his bed, legs hanging over the side and tangled together. Alexios gave a breathless laugh, but before he could say anything, Hilarion was upon him, back arched high the better to fold his whole frame over Alexios’ own. Hilarion’s lips caught his, clung briefly, then slipped from his mouth to follow the curve of his cheekbone down to his jaw. With a sigh, Alexios granted the unspoken request and tipped his head back, baring the length of his throat to Hilarion’s lips — and even, lightly, his teeth. His day’s growth of stubble dragged lightly against Alexios’ skin, raising little sparks through his nerves.

Then, all at once, he was gone, slipping from Alexios’ arms and down the length of his body before falling to his knees by the side of the cot. Alexios blinked, then there were Hilarion’s hands again, drifting over his thighs, curving round his knees, and sliding down his calves. He lifted himself up on his arms, and found Hilarion already hard at work undoing the cross-gartering of his breeks, his long nimble fingers darting and flashing in the firelight. The brazier also threw a fine sheet of light across his fair hair, warming it to the colour of summer barley, and Alexios could not resist the urge to reach out and draw one hand through it, marvelling at how fine and soft it was as it slid easily between his fingers. Hilarion glanced up at him, eyes glinting through his pale lashes; then, coming to the end of his task, he unlaced Alexios’ boots, drew them off and tossed them into a corner. This done, he drew up his knees, one after the other, to deal with his own, and threw them after Alexios’. Turning back, he returned to stroking his legs, and in a low voice asked, “Is there anything the Praepositus wishes above all?”

The use of his rank in such an intimate situation raised in Alexios a strange, startled flaring of discomfort and desire combined. “Hilarion—”

But Hilarion was evidently well aware of the effect of his words, for his smile only broadened. With his head bent very close to Alexios’ knee, he murmured, “Anything at all. The Praepositus has only to ask, and I will obey.”

“That would be the first time,” said Alexios drily. “Come here.”

And sure enough, Hilarion obeyed, surging up to kiss him with a fierce new hunger. The thing was so sudden that Alexios did not quite manage to stifle a cry, but he had at least mind enough to catch hold of Hilarion’s waist to steady himself — and to use the opportunity to unbuckle Hilarion’s sword-belt. They were both off-duty, wearing only such kit as was absolutely necessary, and so it was an easy thing for him to remove it and let it fall, roughly jingling, to the floor. 

Realising what he was about, Hilarion lifted an eyebrow at him, then took over the business himself, hitching up his tunic and pulling it over his head. Alexios now found himself facing the flat, smooth plane of his belly, the muscles taut, the sharp lines of his hipbones curving lightly inward. He bit his lip and dared look up to meet Hilarion’s eyes, which were now dark and heavy-lidded, the pupils wide and black.

Without breaking the look, Alexios brought up his hands and let his fingers brush against his skin. He felt very clearly the fine tremor that passed through Hilarion’s body in response; heard the soft, but very distinct, breath he drew in. His own breath caught to think that such a simple touch from him could have even that much power. Emboldened by the thought, he smiled up at Hilarion then, slowly, drew his fingers down, over the plane of his stomach, before following the line of dark gold hair that gathered about his navel and plunged downwards to disappear beneath the waist of his breeks. He followed it that far, lingering over the ties, and the heel of his hand brushed against the hard ridge beneath the wool, the proof of just how far advanced was Hilarion’s enthusiasm. His pulse leapt, and he felt an answering jolt in his own loins. Beneath his hand, Hilarion’s whole body gave a jerk, and he gave a low, unmistakeable groan.

“Please,” he breathed.

Alexios could not even think of denying him. Deliberately now, he moved his hand over Hilarion’s cock, feeling out the shape of it through the cloth. Hilarion endured only a few moments of this before taking over, an uncharacteristic flash of impatience showing through as he swiftly unknotted the drawstring ties himself and drew his breeks down over his narrow hips to fall about his ankles, before kicking them aside and drawing himself up to his full height.

“Oh,” said Alexios.

Of course, he had seen Hilarion naked before. He had seen him in the bathhouse, had even touched him, helped rub oil into his skin and scrape down his back and shoulders as any friend might do for another. And, yes, he had even felt desire in doing it. But it had never been quite like this before; not with this same anticipation, the same immediacy. It was almost as if he were seeing Hilarion for the first time, the shifting light drawing his gaze now to the graceful sweep of a collarbone, now to the sparrow’s egg speckling of freckles across his shoulders. He stood there, loose-limbed and utterly without self-consciousness, full instead of the easy grace of one fully at home in his own skin. In marked contrast, his cock stood straight and full, already swollen dark. The sight of it sent a bolt of heat through Alexios’ insides, and he felt his own loins stirs, like answering to like. All at once, his own breeks felt uncomfortably coarse and heavy, and he shifted his hips where he sat. Only a little, but it was enough for Hilarion’s sharp eyes, and he smiled with a very knowing sort of pleasure.

Forestalling the wry remark that he could sense in the offing, Alexios held out his hands. “Come here.” Whereupon Hilarion took them and tumbled him, laughing, to the bed.

It was a strange thing, Alexios thought, that his heart could be pounding, his very blood throbbing in time with the Attacotti drums outside, and yet he could feel so completely languid. There was something wonderfully decadent in lying there fully-clothed while Hilarion lay naked upon him, pressing him back into the mattress beneath his weight until the straw crackled. His lips drifted over Alexios’ face, tracing his brows, his eyelids, his nose, before running down his jaw to the point of his chin.

“Alexios,” he murmured, again and again, “oh, Alexios…” His voice was deeper than Alexios had ever heard it: rough and hoarse and without the least trace of a drawl, full instead of something very like wonder. The sound of it pierced Alexios’ heart, and he found himself clasping him tight, murmuring Hilarion’s name in return.

There were words he was reaching for, words he could not quite find; but nevertheless, Hilarion seemed to understand, for he drew back with a very crooked smile, and reached down to unfasten Alexios’ breeks. Alexios arched his hips, allowing Hilarion to remove them entirely before working on his belt and tunic, and bearing down upon him once more. After that, there was only a warm current of pleasure, which drew them by slow degrees up the length of the bed, until Alexios found himself with his head pressed back into the pillow, and Hilarion’s body entwined with his.

It had been long — so very long — since he had felt this: the warmth of skin against skin, the heat of a lover’s heart beating in time with his own. After Abusina, he had been full of too much shame and loathing towards himself to think much on such things. Then there had only been Cunorix. Cunorix, whom he had loved, but who had been so far beyond his reach, even before everything went wrong. But now here was Hilarion — Hilarion, whom he loved now, who had come through the darkness at his side, and who was still here with him after it all. Perhaps that was why, though his heart might be racing, he felt no hurry. There was no need for hurry, for neither of them had any idea of going anywhere without the other. Here, they had time and freedom simply to lie together, to learn the ways and pleasures of each other’s bodies.

And perhaps there was something of this in Hilarion’s mind, for his hands were as gentle as they had been during those days in Onnum when he had sat by Alexios’ bedside, and his explorations brought him, by and by, to the scar that still ran down Alexios’ shield-arm. Lightly, as if the wound were still fresh, he followed the shape of it with the tips of his fingers, his expression very grave. Seeing this, Alexios raised a hand to his cheek. “Hilarion…”

There was a terrible intensity in the way Hilarion kissed him. “I would have spared you it,” he whispered against Alexios’ lips. “I would have spared you all of it.”

“I know,” replied Alexios, remembering that short, deadly earnest exchange behind the rampart at Bremenium. “I know. But it was mine to do.”

Bad enough that he should feel the sting of old memories, but that Hilarion should — Hilarion, who bore no responsibility for any of what had happened — seemed monstrously unjust. So instead he drew Hilarion back down to him and kissed him, deeply, fiercely, hoping that would be enough to banish the threatening shadow and convey all that was in his heart, the things too bright and vast for words alone. And with a sigh, Hilarion sank into his arms and returned the kiss in kind. Alexios pulled him close, kissing him and stroking him, stoking that slow-burning flame between them again until the shadow was banished and there was nothing in his heart but Hilarion. Beneath his hands, Hilarion’s skin was smooth and golden in the firelight; his limbs were fine and sinewy, and there seemed to be no end to them as he moved his hands along them, finding out the soft places hidden between the hard lines of muscle.

There were other secrets, too; for between the freckles, Hilarion had scars of his own, none quite as grave as Alexios’, but he had spent at least as many years with the Eagles and the Wolves both, and must have known his own fair share of fighting and misadventure. These Alexios traced with his fingers and his lips, learning all of him that he could, until Hilarion was gasping and trembling in his arms.

“If I might beg a favour,” he breathed at last.

Alexios tilted his head back, just far enough to meet his gaze with arched brows. “What favour would that be?”

And there was Hilarion’s usual grin, bright in his face once more. “I beg you will be good enough to fuck me until I can no longer stand straight.”

Alexios laughed. “Say rather until you _can_ stand straight.” Then, more seriously: “Is that really what you want?”

Hilarion, who had been kissing the inside of his wrist, now paused. “And why would I be asking such a thing if I didn’t want it?”

“Well, it is one thing to ask it of a lover, but when that lover is also your Commander…”

Hilarion grinned. “Tell me this: would you consider it an affront to your rank if I were to fuck you?”

Alexios could not help the heat that came flooding into his face at the idea, but he was able to reply, “No, of course not.”

“Well then,” said Hilarion, letting his lips follow a line across Alexios’ palm, “why should it have anything to do with rank if you have me?”

“Nothing,” Alexios agreed. Mithras knew, Hilarion had never — at least as long as he had known him — been one to do anything that seemed expected of him by mere considerations of rank. “But it needed asking, for all that.”

Hilarion bent his head over his hand, but it did not quite serve to mask his smile. “Ah, me. Why must it be my ill fortune to love the most scrupulous man who ever served the Empire?” He leaned in and kissed him, then kissed him again for good measure. “Please. It’s all I can think about. It’s all I have wanted for — gods help me, so very long.”

Heat curled in the pit of Alexios’ stomach. “Very well, then. I can hardly refuse a request like that.”

“Thank you, O kind Commander,” said Hilarion, kissing his face, “O gracious and magnanimous—”

“Get away with you.” He sat up, laughing, and gave him a push to the shoulder. “Let me get up.”

Hilarion gave way, also laughing, and Alexios slipped out from beneath him to climb from the cot. He missed the warmth at once, so wasted no time in crossing to the low shelf which held, among other things, the things he used in the baths. He opened the little chest and brought out his oil-flask, taking a moment to untangle the strigil from the chain, and turned back to the bed.

At once, he was arrested by the sight of Hilarion propped up on one elbow, eyes dancing beneath heavy lids as he watched him. Once, Alexios would have been too embarrassed to bear such scrutiny for very long. There had always been a deep-running seam of self-consciousness within him, uncomfortably aware of the eyes of others upon him, imagining that they were assessing and judging him, and fearing he would be found wanting. Uncle Marius’ interest had been a double-edged sword, even before Abusina.

But now, despite the first instinctive brush of shyness, he found himself very much enjoying the frank appreciation in Hilarion’s eyes. He could feel the weight and warmth of their gaze as surely as the touch of a hand upon his skin, and before he was quite aware of it, he was relaxing his limbs, drawing himself up to his full height to let Hilarion see all of him. He was rewarded by the darkening of Hilarion’s eyes, the sight of his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip.

“Come,” he said, sitting out and holding out his hands. “Please, Alexios, come to me now.”

The raw want in his voice struck an answering spark in Alexios’s blood. In a moment he had crossed again to the bed, reaching out his free hand, and Hilarion was grasping it and drawing him down upon him. He went gladly, unable to suppress a soft moan of relief at the feeling of Hilarion’s skin against his own again. At the same time, he became aware of the solid heat of Hilarion’s cock pressed against his. Unable to resist the sudden wicked urge, he slid one thigh between both of Hilarion’s, shifting his weight so that they pressed and dragged together: a hot, thrilling pressure that had them both biting back cries. Hilarion arched beneath him, clinging to his arms as if he were the only sure and steady thing left in the world, his head flung back and his eyes closed. There was something breathtaking about the sight of him like this, so open with desire, his usual careless manner stripped away like an old cloak. Breathtaking — and humbling, too, that Hilarion should trust him enough to let him see it. Lightly, he cupped his cheek, grazing his thumb along his lower lip. Hilarion strained a little, trying to capture his mouth in a kiss, but Alexios leaned back, just out of reach, and he fell back with a low groan.

“Mother of Mares, I never thought you had it in you to be such a tease.”

Alexios flickered him a grin, and continued idly to trace the shape of his lips. “Alas, I fell in with ill company and learned bad habits.”

Hilarion snorted with laughter, even as he clung harder to him. “Please — please, Alexios, no more. I’ll run full-moon mad if you tease me any more!”

Privately, Alexios had to agree, for by now his own desire had sharpened to a new pitch of urgency. So he granted Hilarion his kiss at last, and as he did, felt about for the oil-flask, which he had dropped upon the blankets. Hilarion broke the kiss to see what he was about, then turned back to him with a smile. 

“If I might be of some help…”

Putting his hands back, he pushed himself up into a sitting position, so suddenly that Alexios started backwards, and found himself now crouched between Hilarion’s raised knees, with a hand awkwardly braced upon one of them.

“Hilarion—!”

Hilarion’s only reply was an arched brow. With one hand he felt for the flask, unstoppered it, and tipped a generous measure into his palm, releasing the fresh scent of myrtle as the oil warmed against his skin. Then, with admirable dexterity, he replaced the stopper and set the flask aside, all with his free hand, before catching Alexios about the small of his back with the same, while with his oiled hand he reached between Alexios’ thighs. His fingers brushed the dark hair about his loins and Alexios’ breath caught, his body giving an involuntary little jerk, which only caused Hilarion to hold him more firmly.

“Ssh…”

Then, before Alexios had even a moment to prepare himself, Hilarion’s fingers closed around him. It was only a loose fist — maddeningly loose, the merest suggestion of a touch — and he gave a groan of frustration, very ill-suppressed. Slowly, with appalling precision, Hilarion moved his hand, stroking up and down the length of him without ever tightening, until he was gasping, trembling, every fibre of his being quivering-taut with the need, the desperation, for more.

“ _Hilarion…_ ” With clumsy hands he reached out and grasped Hilarion’s shoulders, his only purchase against the sensations that gripped him. He bowed his head against Hilarion’s collarbone and, glancing down, was transfixed by the sight of Hilarion’s hand upon him, white fingers curling around blood-darkened flesh, all gleaming with oil as he spread it along the length of him. White fire rushed through Alexios’ veins and he uttered a sharp cry, burying his face in the curve of Hilarion’s neck. Hilarion breathed a low laugh.

“There…” His voice curled, warm and dark, into the whorls of Alexios’ ear. “There, my beauty. You’re all right; see, I have you…”

And he did, thought Alexios. For all his cajoling and teasing, Hilarion had him secure. His other hand was still firm at his back, and even in the way he caressed him — fingers now stroking and pressing in time with the pulse of his flesh, drawing his desire forth in slow waves — was the promise of safety. And with that thought, Alexios felt the last few restraints upon him fall away, and he gave himself up entirely.

“All right,” he gasped, “you’ve had your revenge. Now, please—” 

He never finished, but he had no need to. Hilarion understood. Perhaps he, too, was feeling that same growing ache, for he took him at his word and released him. It was sudden enough that for the space of a heartbeat, Alexios was left dazed and bereft. Then there was Hilarion’s hand again, oiled fingers slipping against the nape of his neck as he drew him into another kiss.

It was not one of the deep, wanton things that had already passed between them, but something sweeter and — if such a word could possibly be used at such a time — almost chaste. As it came to an end, Alexios saw that despite the wicked angle of Hilarion’s smile, his eyes were soft.

“Will you have me now, Alexios?”

Alexios smiled, and swept his hands through Hilarion’s hair. “Yes.”

At once, Hilarion shifted as if to turn over, but Alexios stayed him with a hand to his shoulder. “No, I want to see your face.”

The joy that dawned in Hilarion’s face nearly took the breath from him. His eyes were bright with it, and a wondering smile lit his whole face. Another kiss, so deep and sweet that it made Alexios ache from head to toe; and — gently, gently — he coaxed Hilarion down upon his back and reached for the oil again.

It was a thing of wonder to him how easily, how _eagerly_ , Hilarion opened for him. His head was thrown back on the pillow, in the hollow that Alexios’ had already made, the long sweep of his throat working as he swallowed. It was a temptation too great to withstand, and Alexios bent over him, glancing his lips against the apple of his throat, savouring the shiver and hissed curse it elicited.

When at last he judged Hilarion ready — when he was flung out across the bed in complete abandon, chest heaving, limbs spreadeagled and one arm thrown across his eyes — Alexios drew himself up, anchoring himself with one thigh pressed between Hilarion’s as before. He took hold of his hip, thumb drifting over the sharp jut of the bone, before he tightened his grip and braced himself. He curved his body over, and at once Hilarion’s arms wrapped about him.

“Now,” he rasped.

Alexios nodded and tried to move, only to find that Hilarion was holding him too tight. He squirmed a little, trying to free himself, but Hilarion’s arms remained locked about him, and he broke into breathless laughter. “Hilarion, I would very much like to do as you ask, but I can do nothing with you holding me like an ivy root.”

Hilarion gave a long-suffering sigh, but conceded so far as to move his hands to Alexios’ arms; though he still held him to bruising, as if he feared Alexios would melt away into the shadows if he did anything less. The thought of it twisted Alexios’ heart and he dropped his head to lay a succession of kisses to Hilarion’s neck, even as he shifted his weight over him, letting their bodies move and fit together. With the hand upon Hilarion’s waist, he urged his hips gently up. Hilarion’s eye caught his, and they exchanged a swift smile; then Alexios tightened his hold and, slowly, pushed himself forward.

In that first instant, he was nearly undone by the wild flood of pleasure that swept through him. It had been a long time indeed since he had done this, and he had somehow forgotten the intensity of the thing. For a moment he thought he might simply lose himself in it, but then Hilarion uttered a soft curse in his ear, his body clenching against the first discomfort of being breached, and Alexios remembered himself. His whole body was aflame, demanding that he give himself to the raw animal urge to simply take, to thrust and thrust until he found the relief that beckoned in the distance; but with an almost heroic effort he reined himself in and focused his attentions upon Hilarion. Pressing their brows together, he kissed him and stroked from his hip along the length of his thigh, murmuring he knew not what, only bent on soothing him into his ease. And with a sigh, Hilarion yielded. His muscles softened back into their usual lassitude, and his body opened. Before he knew it, Alexios was sliding further inside, with scarcely any effort on his own part, and it was his turn to curse as the flame within him leapt high and bright.

“Oh, Hilarion. Oh — Name of Light—”

He was beyond words now; all he could do was take Hilarion’s face between his hands and kiss him as if his life depended on it. Hilarion met him stroke for stroke, arms flung about his shoulders and long legs coming up to cocoon him. For a long time, it seemed, they could do no more than hold each other, each the other’s only lifeline amidst the flood that had caught them up and threatened to bear them away. Then, as if the thing had been agreed between them without the need for speaking, they both moved.

Alexios had expected it would be good, but he had not been prepared for this: this slow, sweet melting-together. His head was reeling, the desire rising in him in a heady golden tide, as if he had just downed a full jug of finest Falernian without watering. He could see nothing; he was astonished with pleasure. He thrust, borne on by the sheer need to move; and there was Hilarion, beneath him, against him, with him. They moved together, following some deep blood-rhythm that rose and ebbed between them, rising higher and ever higher…

“Alexios,” Hilarion gasped — and, oh, the sound of it was as if it had been torn right from his heart. “ _Alexios._ ” His hips arched, bringing his cock up to rub against the plane of Alexios’ belly. Sensing the unspoken plea, Alexios brought one hand down between them and took him in hand, as hard and hot as a smith’s iron in the curve of his palm. No thought now of teasing: they were well beyond such things now. Instead he simply stroked Hilarion to the same rhythm as his thrusts, short and hard, even as the deep, tight coiling began within him. He could sense the end not far off, felt himself yearning towards it, even as he longed to hold it back, to savour the sweetness just one moment longer…

“Hilarion, I think I—”

“If it helps,” gasped Hilarion, “I _know_ I am. Now. Please — now.”

His hands, which had been splayed over Alexios’ shoulder-blades, now swept down his back and curved over his buttocks, pressing firmly so that he thrust deeper inside. In the same moment, Alexios’ hand tightened about him, and that did it. With a last snap of his hips, Hilarion arched against him; his head fell back against the pillow, and he clenched Alexios tight, inside and out, as his end overtook him.

And Alexios was helpless to do anything but follow. He was aware of long moan that rose between them, without ever knowing which of them it came from; then, with one final thrust, he crested that last great wave-break of pleasure and let himself fall.

-

It was the drums that woke him, later. He felt them more than heard them, their deep earth-pulse drawing him back out of his warm, drifting doze. And there was another pulse, too, slow and strong, the beat of a heart against his back. Coming slowly back to himself, he realised that he was lying curled on his side with Hilarion draped about him, one arm slung his hips and his chin resting on Alexios’ shoulder. Alexios smiled and nestled closer. For a long time he simply lay there, lazy with satisfaction in a nest of blankets, his limbs heavy but his heart light, lighter than it had been in a long time.

Outside, the drums on the Dancing Ground beat on. With the instinct of one whose days have long been regulated by the voice of trumpets from the ramparts, he judged that it must be close to the end of the Third Watch; but the drums were as vigorous as they had been at sundown, and the singing and the distant roar of whirling feet seemed not to have lessened. Doubtless, too, the wine and heather-beer continued to flow just as freely.

“I’m thinking there will be a great shambles of sore heads at morning muster,” he murmured.

Behind him, around him, Hilarion stirred, and a low chuckle warmed his ear. “ _That_ is what is on your mind just now?” 

Alexios twisted in his arms, the better to see his face. Hilarion, he thought, must have slept as well, for his smile was even lazier and heavier-lidded than usual, his hair tousled. He smiled.

“And what else should be on their Commander’s mind, Ducenarius?”

“With all respect, sir, it’s hardly flattering to one in my position.”

Alexios leaned up to kiss him — softly, lingeringly, for the sheer pleasure of it.

“There,” he said, with a grin, “I hope that sets your mind at rest.”

Hilarion’s mouth flickered, but he seemed lost in some muse of his own, tracing the line of Alexios’ lips, before brushing his cheek. “You know,” he said, “you look so well when you smile. That was almost the first thought I had, when I first saw you, that yours was a face that was better suited to be smiling.”

“Almost,” said Alexios drily. He could well imagine what thoughts must have come before, and they were not nearly so complimentary. Inevitably, his mind flitted back to that first fraught meeting in the Mess at Castellum — so long ago it seemed to belong to another life.

Hilarion’s smile unfurled a little further, and Alexios knew he was remembering it, also. “Ye gods, but it’s been a long road,” he said softly.

“Yes,” Alexios agreed, “it has.” A long road, and a long hard march along it. 

This thought, too, must be in Hilarion’s mind, for now he said, without a hint of laughter: “And are you happy with where it has brought you? Brought us?”

“I am,” said Alexios. He reached out with one hand to find Hilarion’s, linking their fingers together, a mingling of fair skin and olive. “I am very happy.”

It had been a long road, and a hard one, and there were scars on his heart that would never quite heal, sorrows that would never quite fade. All men must learn to live with the hand the Fates deal him, good or bad, and this he had done. But he had also been greatly favoured, for he had found something he had once lost and never thought to find again. It was a gift beyond price, and he felt truly humbled to have received it. He prayed the reborn sun would shine on the new road that lay ahead of them.

Just then, the voice of a trumpet rang out, clear through the distant drumming, proclaiming the hour.

“Fourth Watch,” said Hilarion, and with a great sigh, stretched his limbs before curling more closely into Alexios’ side, burying his face in his hair. “Ah, but I could happily lie here for hours more.”

“There is something else to be said for this night of the year,” murmured Alexios.

“Oh?”

“Yes,” he said, and kissed Hilarion on the cheek. “It means that Cockcrow is further off than on any other night.”

Hilarion’s eyes gleamed in the low light. “My Commander is a wise man indeed.”

“Give you joy of this Midwinter, Hilarion,” murmured Alexios, and drew him into his arms once more.


End file.
